


Inescapable

by starraya



Category: Holby City
Genre: F/F, Post Indefensible
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 15:23:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7850311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starraya/pseuds/starraya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bernie Wolfe had never understood people when they talked of love creeping up on you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inescapable

'Love, that loosener of limbs, bittersweet and inescapable, crawling thing, seizes me' – _Sappho_

* * *

 

Bernie Wolfe had never understood people when they talked of love creeping up on you. Like some assailant waiting to catch you off guard and tackle you to the ground. Besides, surrender or defeat wasn’t her style.

 

She remembered her adrenaline-led life in Afghanistan. A life lived purely in the moment. She remembered how her heart would race, her blood pound in her ears, but also how her hands would remain steady as she incised and stitched. There was no room for error. No time for it, really. You took calculated risks. Performed surgery others were afraid too. And you were always looking forward and thinking of the next step ahead. Your eyes always had to be open, double-checking and looking out for dangers, missed injuries, your comrades.

 

Her and Alex’s affair was as intense. When you lived together and ate together and worked together, side by side, day in, day out, knowing no matter what that you’d have each other’s back because your friendship had been forged on that one unspoken vow, well . . . nothing could quite compare.

 

Alex and her stole moments together when they couldn’t have hours. Bernie remembered kisses as scorching hot as the Middle Eastern sun. She remembered touches, fleeting and surreptitious at the ends of long days full of blood and dust and heat when all you craved was to crawl wearily into bed and pull the blanket over your head and try to block out the memory of a dead friend, but casualties were thick and fast, gunfire rapid, and all around you there was the low, soft but unmistakable wail of the dying, never-ending. Those touches were like tiny sips of cool water, precious and overwhelming and all you needed for substance, if only for a moment before the thirst returned.

 

Her and Alex had lived in a bubble cut off from reality as much as army life was from civilian. Then the IED hit.

 

Immobilised in bed with a spinal fracture, Bernie was forced to slow down and stop, to finally look around and survey the damage. Her world had imploded and she should have delicately picked out the shrapnel and determinedly trudged through the debris. She should have admitted her infidelity. She should have faced the truth, for once in her life, but instead she took the coward’s way and closed her eyes. She lied. Only, as a doctor, she should have known that if you left some things untended for too long they only worsened. Patients bled out. Infection spread. You had to amputate instead of saving the limb. The longer you left it the harder it was to repair. Until, finally, nothing could be salvaged.

 

Could she have salvaged anything with Marcus if she had told him of her affair the moment they were reunited in a hospital room after months apart? Would she had wanted him to forgive her? Would she had wanted to make apologies and promises she didn’t whole-heartedly mean? If a reconciliation with Marcus had meant simply going on to live another lie, then no. But if she had told him as soon as possible, before she worsened things by continuing to lie and cover her tracks, might she have hurt him less?

 

In the world of medicine pain comes before relief.

 

That she knew well. For the woman Bernie never stopped thinking about since leaving Afghanistan, the woman who entered her dreams every night only to vanish too quickly, making the king-sized hotel bed Bernie woke up in seem too large and empty, her lover, her soulmate, her best friend appeared one day at Holby without warning, like a piece of driftwood after a shipwreck. A shipwreck Bernie didn’t want to recall. She lobbied for a different anaesthetist and did her best to avoid confrontation. Bernie was brusque and cold on the surface, but underneath she was a mess, terrified Dom couldn’t be relied on for discretion and would let her confidences slip.

 

Bernie wasn’t ready for that conversation with Marcus. She couldn’t have her past world and present world colliding like tectonic plates, rupturing the ground beneath her. A champion of order and discipline, Bernie didn’t want to think of the chaos that would unfold. In the army she had always been in control. She had found it difficult to adjust to the culture of debate and deliberation of Holby, not to mention NHS politics and the constant battle of egos. She tried to make the job work though, for the sake of her marriage and compromised sometimes when necessary, but never lost doubt in her competency as a surgeon. She still had some rank and respect at Holby, some power and control.

 

She couldn’t stand the idea of having it ripped from her.

 

But as she knew from the army your own cowardice could prove to be as much an enemy as any, perhaps the worst. For Bernie it did. The mistaken E-mail. The gossip. She was accused and stood guilty. The divorce was no longer civil. Marcus would get the kids to write statements supporting her case, chapter and verse about her failings as a wife and mother. Alex was no longer ready to wait in the wings. She held Bernie’s hand, let Bernie’s desperate touch linger, before pulling away and walking out the door. Bernie’s world was rapidly flooding with all the lies she had told and all the hurt she had caused, and Alex could no longer support her. Alex could no longer act as a piece of driftwood on which Bernie clutched, but quickly abandon once she had spotted land on which to safely hide away. The familiar territory of marriage for instance.

 

Everywhere Bernie turned she hurt people. Marcus. Cameron and Charlotte. Alex.

 

Serena.

 

Whatever small and delicate thing had begun to blossom between her and Serena, Bernie feared she’d tore it apart. Serena wasn’t one for fools, and she didn’t take kindly to be taken for one, Bernie knew too, after a marriage founded on dishonesty. Bernie had lied by omission, and in the process self-sabotaged one of the few genuinely good things that had come from her move back to England – their friendship. But Serena forgave Bernie with one dismissive remark and, thankfully, Bernie Wolfe learnt that Serena Campbell didn’t always hold life-long-take-it-to-the-grave-grudges with the passion of a thousand suns.

 

In some ways Serena could be as stubborn a sticker for the rules as Bernie and wield an iron grip on AAU and its staff, but if there was thing Bernie admired her friend for it was her carefulness not to just listen and try to help with Bernie’s problems, but to not shy away from her own. To assess a situation and adapt, instead of sticking her head in the sand.

 

Bernie remembered when Serena had returned to Holby after Bernie had manned the deck in her absence. She had once again distorted the truth in hopes of protecting someone from hurt, only to hurt them, perhaps more because of the deception, and realise that in truth she had been protecting herself most of all. Though initially wounded when she had found out about Bernie’s secret ‘babysitting’, it was Serena who had acknowledged Bernie’s help and suggested that they co-lead AAU. Admitted that they were equals.

 

In recent weeks, Serena’s determination to put family and medicine first, not the boardroom and statistics first, became clear. When Bernie found Serena in their office that one day, unravelling at the seams, stressed and frustrated and blaming herself for taking her eye off the domestic ball, Serena hadn’t hesitated in accepting Bernie’s offer for fresh air, and a chance to talk things through. She was quick to admit her own fault, even if she couldn’t have predicted the days trying events. She never had any illusions that caring for Jason wasn’t a challenge, but she always strove to cope with as best as she could – for both of them.

 

She jubilantly resigned from the post of deputy CEO. And Bernie and her celebrated with a glass or two of wine at Albies.

 

As the pair had shared smiles over what they had come to call ‘their’ table a warmth had crept over Bernie and something implacable had fluttered in her stomach she couldn’t put down to the wine. She had felt both sensations before, but not as strong. She had felt them during her and Serena’s habitual conversations, hurried exchanges, but welcome respites from the more hectic shifts on AAU when the ring of the red phone was never far away, or long and meandering talks at the end of the day over drinks or, occasionally, when they gave one another a lift to or from work. Those talks were filled with familiarity, but also new, tiny discoveries about each other.

 

Then there were the chats late on a Friday night when the wine flowed steady and the laughs grew more and more heartier. Secretly Bernie delighted in making Serena laugh, properly laugh, so that chuckles deep from her chest overcame her. More often than not, Serena’s laughter set Bernie off and both women were soon coughing and spluttering, wide grins creasing their faces. Bernie had discovered that a tipsy Serena Campbell could be a tremendous flirt – more than usual. Serena probably didn’t intend or notice it, but Bernie couldn’t help but find a healthy dose of double entendre in the other woman’s words.

 

A month or two ago, Bernie had nobly escorted a very drunk Serena Campbell home, amused throughout as Serena groused about her _poor feet in these bloody, damnable heels_. Meanwhile Bernie struggled to keep one arm wrapped around Serena as she tottered forward – and ignore how close they were in physical proximity. How Serena’s side was pressed up against hers, how Bernie could smell the shiraz on her lips as well as the faint, lingering notes of her sweet perfume or how Bernie could feel Serena’s hot breath on her skin or the brush of Serena’s hair against her chin when Serena sometimes stooped and leant in to Bernie, practically nuzzling into her neck to whisper drunken nonsense.

 

When they were just outside her house, Serena had stumbled over the kerb. Bernie had instinctively gone to stop her from falling and Serena’s hands had flown out to clutch at Bernie. It was quite comical in hindsight, but laughter was not Bernie’s mind. Her mouth was too dry for it and her mind too occupied, for when Serena had resumed her balance, with Bernie’s help, Serena’s arms were wrapped around her neck. Standing on the raised pavement with Serena opposite her on the edge of the deserted road, Bernie found herself staring straight down into Serena’s eyes. Bernie’s heart stammered and she let out a shaky breath. Serena’s lips were but inches away from her.

 

“Rescued by my big macho army medic, eh?” Serena lightly squeezed Bernie’s arm.

 

“I told you I’d have your back.” Bernie’s couldn’t hide the tremble in her voice, and prayed Serena didn’t guess it’s guess. In both a thankfully and regretfully short time, Serena loosened her arms around Bernie and turned to her house. “Sure you can manage the rest of the way, or do you need me to carry you over the threshold?”

 

The second after it left her mouth Bernie regretted the quip. Colour flooded Bernie’s face and she was glad for the darkness of the hour. What had she been thinking? Carrying. Threshold. Traditional custom after marriage.

 

“That you could, I have no doubt,” Serena laughed, walking in a line that was not entirely straight up to her porch. “But I think I can manage a few steps.”

 

Serena fished out her house keys from her handbag, but no sooner had she found them they slipped out her hands and tumbled on to the mat on the floor. Both women retrieved down to retrieve them, arms brushing side by side. Bernie was quicker, adroitly gathering the keys and unlocking the front door before handing them back to Serena. She wondered whether it was just she who felt the jolt of electricity as she pressed her hands on top of Serena’s. The contact lasted two seconds at most, but for Bernie it felt like an age. She was grateful when Serena broke it to pocket her keys, push open the door and make her way into her house.

 

Following Serena, Bernie thought how this was the first time that she had been inside Serena’s home. Unsurprisingly, it was neat as a pin and tastefully decorated. The warm hues of mahogany, umber and rust must be a welcome contrast to the harsh, bright whiteness of Holby’s corridors after a long shift. Bernie thought of coming to such a comfort, instead of the lonely, cramped flat she was currently renting. Bernie closed the door carefully behind her, conscious Jason was sleeping upstairs and that no person liked their sleep interrupted. She made her way quietly into the lounge and found Serena fumbling with the knot of her coat sash. Bernie bit back a laugh when Serena disrobed with a triumphant “Ah.”

 

Bernie was at a loose end with what to do. Was it proper etiquette to make immediate plans to return to her own home, her mission of getting Serena home safe complete, so as not to intrude Serena’s for any longer than necessary? Or was that too gauchely abrupt and should she stay a little while? Serena might ask her to say, might say that there was a bottle of wine in the fridge. If she did Bernie was unsure whether she’d say yes or no, not knowing which was the right answer but also that the right answer didn’t always the match the one you wanted to give. Bernie didn’t know if she could trust herself to drink any more than she already had, sitting side by side with Serena in such agonisingly delicious proximity, and not say or do something stupid. Something that would jeopardise their friendship.

 

Bernie was acutely aware that Serena very likely didn’t and would never feel about Bernie the same way as she felt about her.

 

As a means to distract her mind from its confusion – a state it always seemed to be in around one Serena Campbell – Bernie mumbled an offer to take Serena’s coat and hang it up on the rack they had passed in the corridor. After she did, she called softly in the direction of the lounge to tell Serena that she was going to call herself taxi. When Bernie returned to the lounge she was midway through asking whether it would be alright to wait here before she froze on the spot. Her hand darted to her mouth, covering a growing smile. Serena had fallen asleep on the sofa. Automatically, the sight brought a word to Bernie’s mind, one that if she had voiced with Serena awake would have earned her a swift, playful slap on the arm – adorable. Bernie felt a familiar flutter in her stomach. She tried not to think about the tiny future possibility of one day lying next to a sleeping Serena, wrapping her arms around her, listening to the rise and fall of her chest, simply breathing her in.

 

After Bernie draped a tartan blanket she had spotted meticulously folded on the armchair opposite the sofa on which Serena dozed, Bernie called a taxi for herself. Ripping a piece of paper out the small jotter she kept in her coat pocket, Bernie scribbled a note to Serena. Settling down on the armchair to wait for the taxi Bernie was, not for the first time that evening, overwhelmed by just how much the house smelled of Serena’s familiar and comforting scent.

 

-

 

This morning Bernie couldn’t have thought such a day as she’d had today was possible. Nothing could have prepared for the shock of seeing him. She was glad, of course. Overjoyed almost. Only sad it had happened a way that hadn’t involved all the mess with the car crash Keeley and the police.

 

But this day had been necessary in a way.

 

It made her open her eyes to one truth in particular. Love could creep up on you, slowly, softy without you knowing until it hit you. She supposed it was similar to how alcohol gradually seeped into your system, how it made the tension in your limbs loosen and soften and disappear, and your head cloud with a haziness until it as hard to see straight. Trouble was, it often wasn’t until you tripped up over your own feet that you appreciated just how intoxicated you were.

 

Love had seized her, and she hadn’t realised she had surrendered without a single hesitation to it until now. Until Cameron’s words this afternoon. _And now Alex is gone someone new._ The truth was inescapable. Obvious even, at least to an outsider’s eyes. Her son’s eyes. Bernie couldn’t deny those nights she had spent imagining the taste of shiraz on Serena’s lips, the smoothness of her shirt as Bernie’s arms settled around her waist or the softness of Serena’s hair when Bernie’s hands threaded through there. She had also thought of a different reality, one where Serena’s casual, comforting small touches never again landed on Bernie’s arm or her playful flirtations never again raised Bernie’s spirts – and her blood temperature.

 

Cameron had told her not to bury things, but Bernie had buried her desire for Serena deep, afraid it could never bloom into something beautiful once it broke the surface. However, that was something she could rightfully defend with the pure and simple fear of complicating their friendship. Repeatedly lying to Serena, even in the hope of protecting Cameron as Bernie had done today, though, was inexcusable.

 

Indefensible, almost.

 

Serena, as a mother too, had admitted that she understood why Bernie had lied. Chosen to defend the indefensible.

 

They hadn’t parted arguing, but Bernie, mere moments after wishing Serena a goodnight, realised that she still needed to make Serena understand one thing. How much Bernie truly appreciated their friendship. Including Serena. For once in her life Bernie needed to not shy away from apologising or expressing how she felt. The reality that she had fallen for her best friend was inescapable, but perhaps it was one you weren’t meant to escape.

 

Bernie took out her hands from the pockets of her scrubs and made chase.

 

“Wait! Serena . . .”

**Author's Note:**

> So this was my first foray into the Berena fandom. I hope you enjoyed it! And I can't wait to celeberate the upcoming kiss!


End file.
